


Drowning

by Em_hrtly



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, BAMF Tony Stark, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Endgame, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, spiderson, we're just pretending that you know what never happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_hrtly/pseuds/Em_hrtly
Summary: You would think he would be used to it. The loss. The crippling sadness. The feeling of knowing you’ll never be able to see that person you love ever again. It had happened so many times now. But, could you ever truly get used to agony? The kind that rips you apart? Peter had been ripped apart so many times now, he wasn’t sure there was anything of himself left.When Peter's entire world falls apart and he is drowning in grief, it's up to Tony to help him pick up the pieces and pull him back to the surface.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 111





	1. How Did We Get Here?

“Mr Stark, on your left!” Peter’s voice shouted through Tony’s comms earpiece.

Tony turned just in time to see a ten ton genetically enhanced rhino charging its way towards him. _Did bad guys not know that Sunday was supposed to be the day of rest?_ Tony thought sarcastically as he dodged out of the way of the battering-ram-on-legs, hitting it with a blast from his repulsors. The thing went down, but Tony didn’t have time to celebrate before another rhino was barrelling towards him from the opposite direction.

It turned out some brainbox scientist at the Bronx zoo had been enjoying some morally questionable extracurricular activities and had been experimenting with genetic modification with the hopes of giving himself some crazy, not-meant-for-humans level of strength. But rather than starting trials with something cute and fluffy and far less dangerous, like a bunny or some shit, they’d gone straight to the big leagues with the zoo’s Southern White Rhinoceros. So, for Tony, what had meant to be a relaxing Sunday tinkering in the lab with his favourite protégé, AKA Peter Parker, AKA Spider-Kid, had turned into one big rhino-shaped shit show. Still, at least he and the kid were getting to spend some time together.

 _Yeah, real quality time together_ , Tony thought as Spider-man slowed the remaining rhino down with a couple of web-nets they’d recently developed together, Tony finishing it off with his repulsors. This time, the animal exploded on impact, splattering Tony and anything else within a twenty-meter radius with a weird green goo. Gross. _Nothing like a bit of rhino soup to bring people together._

Tony and Peter had been spending a lot more time together since, what they had dubbed, the Second Snap; both realising how close they had come to losing the other for good and never wanting it to happen again. Peter had literally turned to ash in Tony’s arms, and that had put a lot of things into perspective for the man. He still had nightmares about it sometimes; about Peter’s face as Tony had cradled his disintegrating body in his arms, about reaching out to grab him only for his hands to find nothing but empty air. When Tony had snapped his fingers with the infinity stones in his gauntlet, he had expected to die. He had known no human could ever survive that. But he had also known that it would be totally worth it if it meant keeping the people he cared about safe.

And the gamma radiation that came as consequence of the Second Snap _would_ have killed Tony, if it hadn’t had been for that amazing, incredible, awe-inspiring brain of his. That same brain had created the Iron Man suits, which were capable of absorbing gamma particles and eradicating them, consequently saving Tony’s life. The pure power created as a consequence of the snap had still done it’s damage mind you, and Tony had spent a good few weeks confined to the Med-bay of the Avengers compound, under the watchful eye of the incredible, yet oftentimes terrifying, Dr Helen Cho, once he at the team had returned to Earth. Still, he was alive, the people he cared about were safe, and that was what mattered.

Peter had been to visit him almost every day during his weeks confined to a hospital bed, regaling him with tales of what he and his nerd friends had had for lunch that day in the school cafeteria (“It was so gross, Mr Stark”), the seven cats he’s saved from trees just that week while patrolling as Spider-man in Queens (“And _then_ , it just hopped down from the branch like it was no big deal, and _I_ was the one who ended up stuck!”) and the Stormtrooper Lego set he and his friend Ned had built one evening after school (“It only had 647 pieces, so it only took us a couple of hours, but it looks so cool sat on Ned’s dresser now!”).

Tony would never admit it to anyone out loud, but hearing about Peter’s day, no matter how mundane, was oftentimes the best part of his. Even once he had recovered and no longer had the four Med-bay walls as his only form of stimulation, he loved listening to Peter ramble on in a way that was totally and unmistakeably Peter.

Once Tony had been well enough to leave the Med-bay, he had left the compound and moved back into the Tower, preferring to be in the heart of the city. Peter still came over a couple of nights a week before he went out on patrol, and he and Tony would spend most of their time working on suit upgrades in the lab or watching movies with whoever was around at the time, usually Bruce and Rhodey. Once the team had realised Tony was going to be okay, they had swapped sitting vigil outside of his hospital room for getting back to their normal lives. Whatever normal was for the bunch of misfits. Bruce and Rhodey were the only two that had decided to join Tony in making the Tower their permanent residence. The others knew their rooms would always be there and would still drop in from time to time. Thankfully, the world hadn’t needing saving in the past few months, so the visits were rare, but always social.

After getting permission from Aunt Hottie, Tony had had a room made up for Peter on his personal level of the Tower so that the kid could stay over every other weekend. This weekend had been one of those times. He and Peter had been playing around with Peter’s web fluid formula, trying to increase its longevity, when FRIDAY had alerted them to the danger on a rampage through New York, which was how Iron Man had found himself tag-teaming with Spider-Man against a stampede of souped-up rhinos.

“Nice work, Kid,” Tony said, as Spider-Man swung from a nearby building and landed next to him. Luckily for them, the Bronx Zoo only had two Southern White Rhino for the mad scientist to mess around with, which had made their job today short and sweet.

“Thanks, Mr Stark!” the kid replied with his trademark enthusiasm. “Did you see those things?!” Peter continued, like Tony hadn’t literally just fought alongside him. “They were crazy! I wonder what that scientist injected them with. Do you think we should take a sample to find out? Could be pretty interesting! Maybe I could use it for my biology project? Although, I guess we don’t really need to take a sample considering you were in the splatter zone when that last one exploded - which was totally awesome by the way - we could just get a sample swab from your suit! Though I do feel kind of bad for the rhinos, they didn’t ask to be experimented on, you know? Do you think Dr Banner would like to take a look at the sample? I think – “

The kid stopped talking abruptly, head tilting to the side like he was listening to something. Tony thought he looked kind of cute when he did that, not that he’d ever dream of saying that to the kid’s face. Despite the pair’s growing closeness, Tony still wasn’t the most amazing at 'verbalising his feelings' as his therapist had once put it.

Before Tony could register what was happening, Peter was slinging a web towards the nearest building and disappearing from view, clearly in a rush to get somewhere. Huh, that was weird. The kid was definitely not a fuck and chuck kind of person. _Or, the battle and skedaddle type_ , Tony thought, chuckling at his own joke.

“FRIDAY, mind telling me what all that was about?” Tony asked the AI, thinking about who he should call to deal with the one dead, and one blown up rhinoceros currently littering up the streets of New York. Was that a job for the cops? Maybe the fire department? Did animal control deal with anything bigger than a Doberman?

“It appears Mr Parker received a call from a receptionist at Queens Memorial Hospital regarding May Parker. The receptionist did not appear to give any further details before Mr Parker hung up and swung off,” the AI replied.

The hospital? Shit, May must have been hurt during a shift or something. Was she working today? Tony didn’t think so, but then she did have a habit of picking up extra shifts here and there. She did have a kid with a freakily fast metabolism to feed after all. Tony knew the Parker’s weren’t exactly affluent. He’d offered to help out financially more times than he could count, but May, being the proud woman that she was, had always refused.

“FRI, call whoever deals with dead rhinos in this city and get me directions to Queens Memorial Hospital.”

The directions to the hospital popped up on Tony’s display almost immediately as he took off into the air. If May was hurt, Peter might need to stay at the Tower for a couple more nights or might need to head back to his apartment to grab May some things. Tony wanted to help if he could.

“FRIDAY, get Happy to bring the car to the hospital, would you? The kid might need a ride to his apartment.”

“Of course, Boss.”

Before he knew it, Tony was landing outside Queens Memorial Hospital, stepping out of his suit gingerly to try and avoid the still-stuck green goop. Some of it had dried during the flight, and Tony didn’t even want to think about what a bitch it would be to clean off later. _Oh well_ , he thought, _that_ ’s _Happy’s problem._

Tony typed a quick code into his Starkphone that would instruct the suit to fly back to the Tower automatically; he didn’t really want to take a gross slime covered suit into a hospital, and he knew he’d have a ride back with Happy anyway. The suit took off as Tony stepped into the hospital’s reception, ignoring the stares that inevitably followed him everywhere.

Now he was here, Tony wasn’t really sure what his plan of attack should be. He wasn’t even one hundred percent sure May had been injured. But then why else would Peter have run off so suddenly? He decided it was probably just best to ask at the reception; they could tell him where May Parker the nurse was just as easily as they could tell him where May Parker the patient was.

The receptionist’s eyes widened comically as Tony approached the front desk, but she managed to maintain her composure. Just about.

“G-good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?” she asked. She was pretty. In a previous life Tony would have tried to flirt with her. Tried to bring her back to the Tower and have his way with her like a classic sleezy bachelor. And he’d have succeeded. Still, that was all in the past. He was happier than he’d ever been with Pepper, the woman of his dreams. She kept Tony in check, and honestly? That was exactly the way he liked it.

“Hi. I’m looking for Parker? May Parker?” Tony said, leaning over the reception desk and flashing the woman his best PR smile.

“Are you a relation?” she asked, as she typed something on her computer.

“Family friend,” Tony answered confidently.

“I’m sorry sir, but unless you’re a direct relation, I can’t give you any details regarding Ms Parker’s condition,” the receptionist said apologetically. So, May _was_ a patient.

“Not a problem,” Tony said, smiling again. “Could you tell me where I could find her?”

The receptionist glanced sideways to a nurse filing some paperwork away nearby and then back to Tony.

“I really shouldn’t…”

“Please,” Tony interrupted. “You’d really be doing me a favour,” he schmoozed.

Glancing sideways again, the receptionist leant forward conspiratorially as Tony mirrored her actions. “Up two floors, two lefts and a right, you’ll find the ICU,” the woman all but whispered.

Tony felt his stomach drop. The ICU? As in, the Intensive Care Unit? That ICU? When Tony had heard May was at the hospital, he thought it was because she’d tripped and sprained her ankle or dropped a glass and cut her hand trying to clean up the mess. Why would May need intensive care?

Trying to push down his sudden worry, Tony thanked the receptionist for her help and turned to follow her directions. She’d made the ICU sound like it was basically around the corner, but it took Tony at least fifteen minutes to navigate his way through the hospital’s long corridors, even at his brisk trying-to-look-calm-but-definitely-not-looking-calm pace.

Once outside the doors to the hospital’s ICU wing, Tony felt his blood run cold. He could see Peter, dressed in regular grey sweats now rather than the Spider-Man suit, through the glass windows in the ICU doors. He was sat on the floor outside one of the treatment rooms, knees up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them. His head was pressed to his knees so Tony couldn’t see the kid’s face, but he knew he was crying. His shoulders were shaking with the sobs. _Fuck_. This was bad.

As soon as Tony stepped through the ICU doors, a nurse was approaching him.

“Excuse me sir, you can’t be up here; it’s family only,” she said, trying to usher him back through the doors.

“I’m here for the kid,” Tony replied, absentmindedly manoeuvring past her and gesturing to Peter.

She wasn’t happy, Tony could tell, but she didn’t push the matter any further, for which Tony was grateful. He really didn’t want to get into a slanging match with a nurse in front of a clearly distraught Peter. For all Tony knew, this nurse knew May, maybe even worked with her. Maybe she knew that May was all that Peter had.

Peter still hadn’t looked up, but his shoulders had stilled once he’d heard Tony’s voice. Tony couldn’t be sure, but he thought the kid was holding his breath, probably trying to hold back the sobs which had been previously wracking his body. _How did we get here?_ Tony thought. _How had things got so shit so fast?_

Tony crouched down so that his eyes were level with Peters and reached out and hand to rest on the kid’s shoulder. Peter looked up at the contact. His eyes were red, tears falling silently down his cheeks as he looked at Tony desperately. Tony’s heart broke right then and there.

Before either of them had chance to say anything, a doctor approached, casting a shadow over Tony and the teen.

“Mr Parker?” the Doctor asked quietly. She had a nice voice, Tony thought. Comforting and warm. The kind of voice doctors liked to put on before they delivered bad news. “Could you please follow me? Let’s go somewhere quiet so we can chat.”

Peter looked like he’d rather do anything but; like he’d rather be anywhere but here right now, but the kid pulled himself up off the floor anyway and followed the doctor obediently. Tony trailed after the two, not knowing if that was even something he was allowed to do. He didn’t care though, because he had a horrific feeling the kid wasn’t going to want to be alone for this conversation. He hoped his instinct was wrong.

The doctor lead them into a family room just off the main area of the ICU. It was decorated in the least offensive way possible; everything was pastels, all of the furniture was soft, even the lighting was less intense than the usual fluorescence you find in hospitals. Tony guided Peter to the cream loveseat in the corner of the room and sat down next to him, the doctor sitting opposite them in pale turquoise armchair. She didn’t question Tony being there, or the fact that he wasn’t family.

“Mr Parker,” the doctor began softly. Peter stared at her desperately, his tears falling silently, like he was thirty seconds away from drowning and this doctor was the only one with a lifeline “Earlier today,” she continued, “your aunt was involved in a serious road traffic accident.”

 _No_ , thought Tony.

“Despite our very best efforts...”

_Please, no. No, no, no._

“…the injuries she sustained were too extensive…”

_Not May. Not the only person the kid has left!_

“…and I’m sorry to have to tell you that she passed away shortly after arriving at the hospital this afternoon.”

Peter didn’t move. It was like time had frozen and the kid had frozen with it. Tony and the doctor stayed silent. The kid was a statue, still starring at the doctor as if willing her to continue, willing her to say “Don’t worry though! We managed to bring her back to life and she’ll be absolutely fine!” But the doctor didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything else at all.

After what felt like an age, the doctor finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Do you have anything you’d like to ask me, Peter?” she asked gently.

Those words were the straw that broke the figurative camel’s back. Peter let out a gut-wrenching sob as his tears began to fall even harder than before. His face distorted into the very image of agony as his body crumpled into Tony’s arms. Tony held him, shushed him, rubbed his hands up and down his back. What more could he do? The kid’s world had just exploded. Aunt May was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for clicking on this fic!  
> This takes place after Endgame but I kind of just pick and choose details I do and don't want to include because this is my world, so I can! 
> 
> Sooooo..... What do we think?  
> I am in no way shape or form a Marvel movie expert, so I'm sure there will be details that I get wrong. I just love Irondad and Spiderson fics so much, I wanted to have a go at writing my own.  
> This is my first ever attempt at a multi-chapter work so I hope I manage to do it some justice!  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (I've recently started a tumblr again, so feel free to come over and chat! http://irondadbxtch.tumblr.com/)


	2. A Shitty Situation

Peter’s crying went from bone-rattling sobs to gentle tears after a couple of long hours, for which Tony was grateful. He knew exactly how long it’d been thanks to the annoyingly cheerful clock the hospital had up on the wall of the family room; it’s face was decorated with overly-happy woodland creatures and Tony wanted to tell all the fluffy little shits to fuck right off. How could anything in the world be cheerful when he was holding a broken kid in his arms? The rational part of his mind knew it wasn’t the imaginary animals’ fault, but the irrational part couldn’t help but think that Bambi’s mother got exactly what she deserved in that stupid movie.

Tony’s right arm had gone numb from where it was crushed between Peter’s body and the back of the loveseat, the other rubbing gentle circles on the kid’s arm, as it had been doing for the duration of their time in the family room. He didn’t mind. If the kid needed Tony to hold him together as he broke apart, then that’s exactly what Tony would do. Peter was half curled up on the sofa and half in Tony’s lap, face buried into the man’s now sodden shirt. The kid had his arms wrapped around himself in some kind of self-comforting gesture that made Tony’s heart hurt.

Tony had always known the world was cruel, but this was some next level shit.

The doctor had left a while ago, offering Peter her condolences quietly and leaving Tony to comfort the kid while she went back to attending to her other patients. It was fair enough, Tony had thought. No point her wasting her time on a patient she had already lost when there were so many others that needed saving. Tony knew that feeling from the missions; turning your back on the dead to concentrate on the living. It was tough, but necessary, and Tony couldn’t blame the doctor for needing to get on with her day. Still, the billionaire couldn’t help but feel bitter about the fact that the world kept on turning while Peter’s world had fallen off its axis altogether. 

After another couple of minutes, Peter’s crying finally faded. The only sound in the otherwise silent room was the occasional sniff as Peter attempted, Tony assumed, to pull himself together. Slowly, so slowly, the teen sat up and removed himself from Tony’s arms, pulling back to look at the older man. The kid looked exhausted. Broken. Empty. The usual light he held in his eyes was gone, replaced by the horrifying shadow of loss. Tony had never seen the kid look like that. _Well, maybe once,_ Tony thought to himself, _on a certain planet after some idiot billionaire had snapped his fingers trying to save the world._

“Hey kid,” Tony said softly, breaking the spell of silence that had been cast over the room as he looked into Peter’s eyes intently.

“Mr Stark,” Peter replied. His voice was hoarse from the hours of sobbing and his eyes were red and sore. _He looks so young_ , Tony thought. When he was fighting aliens alongside Spider-Man or discussing the theories of nanotechnology with Peter, it was so easy for Tony to forget that this was just a kid, a _child_ , that he was talking to.

_And he’s already lost so much._

The two stared at each other for a few moments, Tony trying to convey to Peter words that he didn’t know how to say out loud. _I’m here for you, kid. I know this sucks, but you’re going to get through this_.

_I’m going to help you through this._

He wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but he realised it was true. And it was then that Tony decided; he was going to help this kid. Whatever it took, Tony was going to be there for Peter. He knew all too well the kind of life that could await a kid who had lost his family. He had been lucky compared to Peter – if you can call losing you parents at all lucky – he had been older, he had life experience, and people looking out for him (even if one of those people had ended up being a crazy son of a bitch who had him kidnapped, attempted to oust him from his own company and tried to finish it all off with Tony’s attempted murder being the cherry on top of the metaphorical shit-scream sundae). But even with pre-SOB-Obadiah, Rhodey, Jarvis, all by his side, he had still fallen foul to demons along the way, some of which haunted him even now. And although he knew that, no matter what, a kid like Peter, who had lost so much, would face demons of his own, Tony wanted to do whatever he could to minimise that.

As far as Tony knew – and the man with the ability to hack into any database or security system in the world knew a lot of shit – Peter had no one. The buck stopped with Aunt May. Peter didn’t even have some bald-headed homicidal maniac on his side, although now Tony thought about it, that was arguably a good thing.

But Peter had Tony.

_Is that better or worse than a homicidal maniac?_

After a second of thought, Tony decided it was better. But only just.

A knock at the door startled the two of them. Before either of them could say anything, the same doctor from before – _I really should have asked her name,_ Tony thought absentmindedly – was walking through the door, another woman following her close behind. This new woman wasn’t a doctor; Tony could tell that straight away. She was short; couldn’t have been over five feet, and she was wearing a department store suit that looked like it should have been donated to Goodwill a long time ago. Her heals clicked obnoxiously on the hospital linoleum, which pissed Tony off, although he wasn’t sure why. As quickly as the doctor had entered, she excused herself, shutting the door softly as she left Tony and Peter alone with the new woman.

“Hello Peter,” the woman began as she made herself at home in the armchair. “My name is Penelope Umber. I’m from the Department of Social Services. I’m here to discuss your living circumstances.” Her voice was cold, all business. “I’m very sorry for your loss, I know this must be a very difficult time and I’m sorry to have to come and have this conversation with you.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “Because your aunt was your last living relative, we have organised a place for you to stay. The Andersons are a very nice family who have a lot of experience fostering children, so I can assure you you’ll be in good hands. I’ll…”

“Excuse me,” Tony interrupted.

The social worker turned to him like she had only just noticed he was in the room.

“Yes sir?” she replied, her tone bored.

“That won’t be happening,” Tony continued.

“I’m sorry sir, but…”

“Can you give me ten minutes, please? I need to make a phone call.”

The social worker gaped at him. Peter, who had been sat silently through the exchange so far, turned to Tony, eyes wide and confused.

“Peter, come with me out into the hallway for a sec,” Tony said as he stood, grabbing onto Peter’s arm gently and pulling the kid up with him. 

“Sir, I really don’t think…” the social worker began to argue.

Tony held up a hand to her. “We’ll be back in ten minutes,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

Tony led Peter through the doorway and back into the reception area of the ICU, guiding him to an uncomfortable looking seat by the main doors. Tony kept his hand on Peter’s shoulder as he sat the kid down.

“Sit tight here for a few minutes, Peter, I need to call Pepper.” Tony said, giving the kid’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Do not move until I come back for you, okay? I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Tony waited a moment until Peter nodded in confirmation before he was striding down the hallway to a quieter area of the ICU wing, slipping into another family room that wasn’t in use.

“FRIDAY, call Pepper” Tony instructed as he brought his phone to his ear. He prayed she wasn’t in a meeting. It dialled twice before…

“Tony?”

“Hey Pep. I need you to call the lawyers. I need – I don’t even know what they call it – adoption paperwork? Is that the official term? I don’t know, it probably has some weird official name full of numbers and letters… Whatever they call it, I need them to bring it to Queens Memorial Hospital in the next hour, preferably less. In fact, tell them if they can get it here in fifteen there’ll be a nice bonus in it for them…”

“Woah, Tony, Tony, Tony. Slow down. Adoption paperwork? What are you talking about, what’s going on?” Pepper asked.

“…and how do you feel about adopting a teenager?” Tony continued, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Tony,” Pepper answered firmly, cutting him off. “Take a deep breath, start at the beginning. What’s going on?”

“It’s Peter, Pep. Well, not Peter, exactly. It’s his aunt. She – she was in an accident earlier. She’s _dead_ , Pep. I’m at the hospital with him now and there’s this social worker and she’s talking about foster families and she wants to take him with her and I – I don’t know Pep; it just doesn’t feel right. They don’t know him, they…” He took a deep breath. “I know it’s crazy, Pep. I know it’s something we’ve never really discussed, and I don’t even know if its something Peter will want but I…”

“Tony.” Pepper interrupted again, softly this time. He could hear her tapping away on her phone as she spoke to him on speaker. “I’ve contacted the lawyers and they’re on their way. Deal with the paperwork and concentrate on Peter, I’ll handle everything here.”

Tony sighed in relief. _God, I love that woman_. “Thank you, Pep.”

As Pepper hung up, the realisation of what was happening started to set in. He was about to adopt a kid. A teenager.

But… would Peter even want this? Tony knew he and the kid were close but being someone’s mentor and being someone’s parent were two completely different things. Weren’t they? Oh God, Tony didn’t even know. A guy who was possibly, maybe, about to kind of become a parent should definitely know that. Tony wanted to do everything he could for Peter, but did he have to adopt him to do that? Maybe Peter would rather go live with some nice foster family; people that, without a shadow of a doubt, would know how to look after a kid far better than Tony ever could. Tony didn’t know the first thing about raising a child!

But this was Peter; kind, amazing, good to the core Peter. A kid like Peter didn’t belong with strangers.

So, adoption.

If that was what Peter wanted.

With Pepper’s blessing fresh in his mind and his decision made, Tony made his way back to the main area of the ICU. Peter was sat exactly where Tony had left him. He looked up as Tony approached; his eyes were still red, but his cheeks were thankfully dry.

“Mr Stark, what’s going on?” Peter asked, his voice cracking.

“Nothing to worry about, Pete. I’m just going to have a quick chat with Penelope what’s-her-face, okay kiddo?” Tony said, resting is hand on top of Peters shoulder.

“Mr Stark, I…” Peter began, his eyes filling with tears once more.

“Hey kid, hey.” Tony crouched down so that the two were eye to eye. He moved his hand from Peter’s shoulder so that it was cradling the kids head, forcing him to look him. “Pete, you trust me, right?” He asked, as Peter immediately nodded without hesitation. “I know this is a shitty situation, okay? I know. But it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter whispered as the tears spilled over and trailed down his cheeks silently.

Tony used his thumb to wipe away a tear as it fell. “I’ll be right back, Pete,” he promised as he stood. 

Just before he slipped through the door to the family room, Tony noticed a man in a suit carrying a briefcase pass through the doors into the ICU. The man offered Tony a curt nod before moving to stand silently by the entrance. Tony didn’t recognise the man, but he knew it must be one of the lawyers. He checked his watch; it had been eight minutes since his call with Pepper. _Damn, they’re good._

He stepped back into the room with the social worker. “Ms… Umber, was it? I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself before. Tony Stark.” He said confidently, holding out his hand for her to shake.

“I know who you are, Mr Stark,” she said coldly, standing up from her position in the armchair and ignoring Tony’s outstretched hand completely. He let it flop back to his side unceremoniously. “What I don’t understand, is what is going on here. I need to get Mr Parker to his foster family, and you are making it extremely difficult for me to do my job.” She was pissed.

“That won’t be necessary, Ms Umber. Peter will be coming home with me.” Tony said with the type of confidence only a billionaire, who was not accustomed to being told no, could have.

The social worker let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Mr Stark, I know you are a man who is used to getting his own way, but the welfare of a child is at stake and I…”

“I’ll be adopting him.” Tony interrupted. “One of my lawyers is outside this room right now with the paperwork ready to be signed,” Tony interrupted. “Once I get the okay from Peter, my signature will be on those papers and I’ll be taking him home with me.” He continued, his voice like steel. “I appreciate you trying to do your job, but your services are no longer required here.”

He turned to leave, looking back briefly. “And Ms Umber?” He said icily. “Please do not insinuate that Peter’s welfare is not one hundred percent my top priority.”

Before she had time to respond, Tony turned on his heel, leaving the speechless social worker in his wake. He felt his anger flare at the woman’s obnoxious attitude, but he pushed it away. He needed to keep is head, for Peter’s sake.

Outside the family room, Peter was still in the chair where Tony had deposited him. He sat, his shoulders hunched forward, staring at his lap adamantly, as if the answers to the many questions of the universe were woven into the fabric of his grey jogging bottoms. He didn’t look up as Tony exited the family room, letting the door swing shut softly behind him.

Not for the first time that day, Tony’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t scared; Tony Stark didn’t get scared – or at least that was what Tony liked to tell himself. But he was… apprehensive? Nervous? Uncertain? _All of the above?_

What if Peter rejected him?

 _Then so be it,_ he thought to himself quickly, pushing his insecurities away. _I’ll be there for him however he wants me to be._

No matter how this conversation went, Tony wouldn’t back out now; the kid needed him.

Tony stood up a little straighter, steeling himself for whatever was about to happen next, and made his way over to Peter.

“Okay kid. Here’s the deal,” Tony said, walking over and kneeling in front of the chair Peter was sat on. The kid avoided his gaze, continuing to stare at his lap, brown curls flopping down, and hiding his face from view. “See that guy over there, the one that looks like he’d be super fun at parties?” Tony continued nonchalantly, gesturing to the man with the briefcase, who was busy trying and failing to look inconspicuous. Peter didn’t look up. “That guy is my lawyer. Well, one of them anyway. The number of lawyers I have isn’t important right now.”

 _Shit get it together Stark_ ; Tony thought to himself.

“The paperwork he has in his briefcase is adoption paperwork. Basically, what I’m saying is that I – what I’m offering is…” He paused, gathering his courage. “I want to become your guardian. If you want me to that is. If you don’t, then that’s totally fine as well. I’m sure the foster family would be great too. It’s totally up to you. No pressure either way…”

_Jesus, when had he become such a blundering idiot?_

Tony took a deep breath. “Peter,” Tony said quietly, looking at the kid who was still avoiding his gaze. “What I’m saying is, I can sign those papers right now and you can come back to the Tower with me. Is that – is that what you want?”

For the first time, Peter looked up from where he’d been staring pointedly at his lap. He looked into Tony’s eyes, searching for something, although Tony’s wasn’t sure what. He wanted to look away, uncomfortable and unfamiliar with someone scrutinising him so openly. Peter must have found whatever he was looking for, because after a few tense moments, his eyes filled with tears again as he nodded slowly.

That was all the confirmation Tony needed. His lawyer was at his side in an instant, having obviously been discretely keeping track of the conversation, guardianship paperwork out of the briefcase and open to the appropriate pages. A pen was laid in the crease between two pages, ready for Tony to take, lid already removed. _Efficient._

All it took was six signatures, diligently marked using sticky tabs, which Tony found kind of surprising. Just six signatures and he had a kid? A sixteen-year-old child which he was responsible for? Seemed kind of anticlimactic. The lawyer wasted no time in tucking the now complete paperwork back into his briefcase as he gave a nod, first to Tony and then to Peter, before turning and leaving as quietly as he’d arrived.

Tony watched him leave before setting his attention back to Peter once more. “Okay kid, what do you say we get out of here?” Tony said softly.

He helped Peter up from his chair gently, draping an arm over his shoulders.

The day was clearly catching up with Peter; he leant into Tony heavily, allowing the older man to guide him through the hospital’s maze of corridors. When Tony managed to catch a glimpse of Peter’s face, his eyes were fluttering shut even as he walked, the adrenaline that he assumed had been keeping the kid on his feet finally fading away.

By the time the pair made it to the hospital’s entrance, Tony was supporting almost all of Peter’s weight and his back was screaming in protest at the extra weight and awkward position in which he had to hold himself to support the boy.

It was dark when they made it outside into the parking lot. Tony almost sighed with relief when he saw Happy waiting for them, suddenly remembering asking FRIDAY to call the man, and for a second, almost feeling guilty. That call had been hours ago; Happy must have been waiting for them the entire time. Tony assumed Pepper had been on the phone and informed Happy of the circumstances, because the man didn’t pass any comment as Tony and Peter approached. Instead, he looked down soberly as he opened the back door of the Audi, moving to Peter’s other side to help Tony ease the teen onto the backseat.

The kid had become a total dead weight, exhaustion smothering him like a blanket. Tony leant across to fasten the seatbelt over the now sleeping teen before shutting the door gently and walking to get into the other side of the car. He flopped into the backseat beside Peter, leaning back against the headrest and shutting his eyes for the briefest of moments. He heard Happy start up the car and felt as they pulled away from their space in the lot. 

The drive to the Tower seemed to last forever, although it couldn’t have taken more than half an hour even in the New York evening traffic. Peter slept the entire way, looking peaceful whenever Tony glanced in his direction, which was often. As soon as they pulled into the Tower’s underground garage, Tony was out of the car and slipping his arms gently under Peter’s slight frame, carrying him to the elevator and stepping straight out onto his private floor, thanks to FRIDAY. The sixteen-year-old was heavier than he looked, all muscle, but Tony’s hold on the kid didn’t falter as he carried him to his room and placed him carefully on top of the comforter. He removed the kid’s battered sneakers, placing them on the floor by the bed silently, and moved to grab a blanket from the closet, not wanting to jostle Peter too much by trying to get him under the sheets fully. Tony allowed his hand to linger on the kid’s shoulder for a few seconds as he pulled the blanket up and over Peter’s body, effectively tucking the teenager into bed, before making his way out of the room silently and shutting the door.

“FRIDAY, let me know if the kid wakes up, will you?”

“Of course, Boss.”

Tony ran a hand down his face tiredly as he made his way down the hallway and into the kitchen. The fridges and cupboards were fully stocked, but he went straight for the coffee maker instead. The familiar sound of the beans grinding helped soothe him as he allowed the events of the day to replay in his mind.

It wasn’t lost on Tony that within a matter of hours, Peter’s whole world had been irreversibly shattered into a million pieces. And now, it was going to be Tony’s job to help Peter gather up those parts and put himself back together again, the best he could.

Well, he was a mechanic. Fixing broken things was kind of his whole shtick, right?

He just hoped he didn’t fuck it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again everybody! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos on the first chapter! It's pretty scary putting yourself out there, so the positive feedback this has received so far really means so much to me!!
> 
> Although I have no idea how fostering or adoption works, I can confidently say it's nothing like it's depicted here! But, what can I say? This is my world now, and in my world, adoption only takes six signatures and can happen in the ICU wing of a hospital (let's call it artistic licence!). 
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and healthy out there in these crazy times, and thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to give this story some of your attention! 
> 
> (I've recently started a tumblr again, so feel free to come over and chat! http://irondadbxtch.tumblr.com/


	3. And So, It Begins

Less than an hour after putting Peter to bed, Tony found himself sat in the monochrome, open-plan living room of the Tower’s penthouse, nursing a cup of black coffee, and accompanied by Pepper, Rhodey and Bruce. Pepper had cancelled a conference in D.C that evening so that she could be home to offer Tony support, at least for Peter’s first night. Tony knew that she would have to be up early and back to work the following day; she had a company to run after all, but he appreciated her gesture more than he would ever admit out loud. No matter how much Pepper tried to insist that the conference hadn’t been important, Tony knew that excuse had only been for his benefit. Everything his fiancé did was important; she was incredible after all.

Rhodey had been at dinner in the city when Pepper had called him and told him what had happened. The man had come back to the Tower early, wanting to be there to support his best friend and also wanting to check in on Peter who (like everybody else the Spiderling seemed to meet) he had quite the soft spot for. Rhodey had walked into the penthouse, his upgraded leg braces hardly making a sound, and had pulled his friend into a tight hug, which Tony returned gladly.

Bruce was last to join the group, making his way up from the Tower’s labs where he had been working on his latest project. As usual, the man’s eyes were tired and downcast from the many hours he spent working without a break, but there was a fresh sadness to them tonight at the news of Peter’s aunt. He had never met the woman, but he knew she must have been something special to have a hand in raising an extraordinary kid like Peter.

“Poor kid,” Bruce said quietly as Tony retold the day’s events. The others nodded; all of them knew loss in their own way, but none to the extent of Peter, a boy less than half their age.

The group didn’t say much; sitting in respective silence other than to occasionally take it in turns to offer Tony some words of comfort. The words, despite their good intentions, made Tony feel uneasy; why should he be receiving consolation when Peter was the one who had lost everything?

Another moment of silence elapsed before…

“Did I do the right thing?” Tony said softly to no one in particular.

Had he meant to say that out loud? He wasn’t sure. But it was too late now.

The thought had been bothering him all evening. Sure, he and Peter were close, and had been growing even closer over the past few weeks and months; their mentor-student relationship teetering on the edge of becoming something…more. Tony had felt the change, even before The Snap, but then the feelings had only intensified since. He felt protective towards Peter. Responsible for him. He cared about the kid. Someone that wasn’t Tony Stark might have called the feeling parental, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to use that label, not even in the privacy of his mind. He wasn’t fit to keep a house plant alive, let alone an actual child. May was Peter’s parent.

 _Was_.

Tony was just a guy who bandaged the kid up a couple of times a week. And had him to stay over every other weekend. And took an active interest in the kid’s life… but, whatever. 

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper said sadly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder from her position next to him on the black leather sofa. “Yes. Yes, of course you did.”

“You did right by him, Tones.” Rhodey followed up from across the room. “It’s gunna be a really shitty time for the kid, but you’ll get him through it.”

“Yeah, sure, sure,” Tony deflected, finding it difficult to believe the words but not having the energy to argue. He ran a hand down his face tiredly.

The group sat in silence for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts.

Tony had never envisioned himself being a father. In his philandering days, paternity claims had been an almost weekly occurrence from whichever playboy model he’d brought back to his Malibu beach house that weekend. He never dealt with them personally of course, that had been Pepper’s job at the time, but he’d known they were there. By some miracle, none of the claims had ever been legitimate and Tony had always been thankful. A womanizing weapons developer and ‘daddy’ weren’t exactly conjunctive concepts.

And even after his kidnapping, once he’d ‘turned over a new leaf’, as the press liked to put it, he never saw how a child would be able to fit into his life. He was Iron Man, an Avenger, owner of a multibillion-dollar company; he barely had time to brush his own teeth, let alone parent a child. And who would be the mother? Sure, Pepper was his fiancé, but she’d never expressed a want or desire for them to have kids; she was as married to her work as Tony, if not even more so. Then, more recently, with the whole Thanos and the end of the world thing, they hadn’t really had much time to discuss that matter of babies.

And now he had a teenager. A genetically enhanced genius teenager that liked to moonlight as a Queens vigilante in his spare time. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.

What on earth did he know about raising a teenager? It wasn’t exactly like he’d had the best example set growing up, with a loving but barely-there mother, and a there but barely loving father. The only advantage to his grim upbringing was that Howard Stark had shown him exactly how not to raise a child. But even calling that an advantage was generous.

“Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “Peter is awake. His heart rate is elevated, and he appears to be in distress. I suspect that he is suffering from the aftereffects of a nightmare.”

 _And so, it begins_ , Tony thought sadly.

One of Tony’s most vivid memories from his childhood was from just after his grandmother had passed away. He was only five, maybe six, and despite already being a child genius, he was only just starting to truly grasp the concept and finality of death. He remembered waking in the middle of the night after a horrific nightmare featuring his grandmother’s waxy corpse rising from the dead at the funeral Tony had been forced to sit through. With tears streaming down his face, he had managed to sneak past his dozing nanny and into his parent’s room, hoping to find solace from the nightmare with his father.

Even so young, he should have known better.

His father had been furious, of course, that Tony had dared to disturb his evening, and had physically dragged him back to his bed with a vice-like grip on his arm, yelling about how Stark men were _not_ weak and how they did _not_ cry.

It took him at least fifteen sessions with an extremely overpriced therapist for Tony to realise that that moment of his childhood had scarred him for life. That moment, along with a multitude of other torments Howard Stark had put him through, all cumulated in Tony; a man who had always struggled to ask for help, who had never felt comfortable sharing his emotions, who had always thought he was better off alone.

Since that moment of his childhood, nightmares had always been a part of Tony’s life in one way or another. First with his grandmother’s death. Then, after his parents had died, they had tried to come again; threatening to haunt him every time he closed his eyes; the alcohol and drugs he’d been so fond of back then allowing him to escape in a stupor the hellish dreams couldn’t penetrate. He was given a reprieve from the nightmares during his party days for the same reason, but then Afghanistan, Obi’s betrayal and the portal to the universe over the middle of New York had happened, and each time the nightmares had returned with a frightening ferocity, as if they were trying to make up for lost time. They had never really gone away since then, peaking after The Snap when half the universe’s population (and a certain Spiderling) had turned to ash. But Tony had found his own way to deal with them. It was one of the reasons he liked working at night so much, and working so late; the nightmares found it harder to latch on if he was too exhausted to let them.

Was it a healthy habit? Hell no. But then neither was doughnuts for breakfast and he did that at least once a week.

The point was that this was not Tony’s first rodeo when it came to dealing with nightmares. But despite that, when FRIDAY alerted him to Peter experiencing one of his own, Tony froze. He could hardly just tell the kid to stay up until his eyes couldn’t take it anymore, then stay up a bit longer until he finally fell into a pit of exhaustion. So, what was he supposed to do? Go to the kid? Comfort him? Do all the things his father never had?

“Tony,” Pepper said gently, taking the cup of coffee from his hands, “I think that’s your cue.”

“I have absolutely no idea what to do,” Tony confessed, his voice coming out sharper than he had meant as the anxiety within him bubbled to the surface. “Do I look like I have even a slither of parental instinct to you?”

“You don’t need parental instinct, Tony,” Bruce said, “you just need to be there.”

“Exactly,” Rhodey agreed before Tony could argue. “And I wouldn’t piss on your parental bonfire quite so soon if I were you, Tones. We’ve all seen the way you and Peter are together. Just go to him.”

Despite the encouraging words of his friends, Tony was terrified. Terrified to do the wrong thing, to say the wrong words… He was totally out of his depth here. But knew he had to try. He had to try for Peter.

He wished his father had tried more for him.

He left the living room and made his way towards Peter’s bedroom down the hall. Knocking gently but hearing no reply, he pushed the door open a crack, poking his head inside. Despite the darkness, Tony could see that Peter was a mess; his limbs were tangled in the blanket Tony had placed over him earlier, like he had been wrestling with it during the night. His body was tense as he buried his face in the mattress, smothering himself and his cries. Tony hesitated, only for a moment, before walking in and sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out a hand, tentatively resting it on Peter’s back.

“Hey buddy,” he whispered. Peter made no move to acknowledge Tony’s presence as he continued to sob into the mattress. Tony moved his hands to Peter’s shoulders and gently rolled the kid over. Only now did Peter seem to realise he was no longer alone, looking up at Tony with tear-filled eyes.

“M-Mr Stark. I’m s-so sorry! I-I tried to ask F-FRIDAY not to c-call you…” Peter hiccupped, on the edge of hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey, Pete,” Tony placated gently, pulling the boy into his arms on impulse. “It’s okay kid, it’s okay,” Tony continued, as he rocked the kid back and forth instinctively.

Tony rearranged them so that Peter was practically sat in his lap, his back against Tony’s shoulder as the older man cradled him in his arms, still gently rocking as Peter cried.

“I’m s-sorry Mr Stark, I’m s-so so s-sorry.”

“Shh, Peter, you don’t have anything to be apologise for. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Peter’s breaths were coming quick and shallow, hitching every so often in desperation as he cried, as if his body had forgotten how to breathe.

“It hurts,” Peter whispered, almost to himself, as he continued to struggle with each breath that forced its way inside of him.

“Oh, Peter.” Tony pressed his face into the kid’s hair, not knowing what he could say to that. He kept telling Peter that it was okay when in reality, nothing about this entire situation was okay. “I know, kid. I know.”

Tony’s hand found the side of Peter’s head, running his fingers gently through the hair there and guiding the kid until his ear was pressed against Tony’s chest.

Against his heart.

Tony continued to whisper words of comfort until Peter’s sobs finally slowed, the boy’s body going from stiff to limp in Tony’s arms as sleep finally took him again. As gently as he could, Tony lowered Peter back into bed, tucking the blanket around him once more. He looked so peaceful now the lines of grief were no longer marring his face. Tony walked over to the door and paused with his hand on the handle.

There was so much he wanted to tell Peter, so much he wanted to say, he just didn’t know how. He wanted to tell him that he knew how much it hurt; that he knew that the pain was immense, an unfathomable mix between indescribable emotions and physical pain. He wanted to tell him that he knew the loneliness; that feeling of being totally alone and falling apart and of no one being there to help you gather up the pieces and put yourself back together again. He wanted to tell him that he knew the helplessness; the feeling that nothing will ever be okay again, of having no power over your life because if you did, the people you loved wouldn’t be gone.

He wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t always feel like this…

“It’ll get better, kid,” Tony whispered to the dark room, professing what he could only say without a conscious audience. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will get better. And I’ll be there for you. I’ll help you through it. You feel alone, but you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone so long as I’m here, kiddo.”

He looked into the darkness of the room for a few more moments. Then, his promise given, Tony stepped back into the hallway, shutting Peter’s door behind him softly. Tony ignored the quiet chatter he could still hear coming from the living room, asking FRIDAY to alert him if Peter woke up again, and headed down to his lab.

He had work to do.

“FRIDAY,” he began, flopping down heavily into the desk chair in his lab and running his hand through his hair restlessly. “Start a new project, subcategorise it in Peter’s existing file. Import anything you can find online to do with child grief, helping children deal with loss, yadda yadda yadda, you know where I’m heading with this. Only include peer-reviewed data from the last three years, we don’t want any of that out of date, hippie crap.”

“Coming up now, Boss.” Immediately the images and text started flashing up on Tony’s multiple projections, terabytes of information at his fingertips within a matter of seconds.

It was time to go to work. Tony may have never envisioned himself having a kid, but now he had one. And he was going to do right by Peter. He would do whatever he could to help his kid.

* * *

Unlike most people, Peter truly understood that saying ‘everything can change in the blink of an eye’.

Or the snap of a finger.

When Thanos had snapped, Peter had thought his life was over. He was dead. He was nothing. Less than nothing. He’d been broken apart into the atoms that made up his existence and those atoms had been scattered to the universe, never to be united again. Peter didn’t remember much about the time he was nothing; the five years that passed so agonisingly slowly for everyone else had felt like only moments to him. Like the moment of being deep underwater, kicking and kicking and just about to break the surface…

And then he had. He’d broken through, been brought back to life. He’d breathed air back into his lungs and life back into his body. An amazing, certifiable miracle, courtesy of Tony Stark, of course. Who else? And for a little while, that life had been great; he was back at school, back to normal. Well, his version or normal, anyway. MJ didn’t scare him quite so much anymore, he and Mr Stark had been spending time together, working on the Spider-Man suit and hanging out, he’d been able to go back to saving cats stuck in trees and stopping handbag thefts in Queens. He was happy. And that had been his first mistake.

Peter had come to realise the universe wasn’t a big fan of him being happy.

And now May was gone.

You would think he would be used to it. The loss. The crippling sadness. The feeling of knowing you’ll never be able to see that person you love ever again. It had happened so many times now. But, could you ever truly get used to agony? The kind that rips you apart? Peter had been ripped apart so many times now, he wasn’t sure there was anything of himself left. It felt kind of like turning to ash again, only this time, he couldn’t kick to the surface. He couldn’t even _see_ the surface. He was truly drowning now.

When the nightmare had woken him, he’d forgotten, just for a moment, where he was.

Then, as quickly as he had forgotten, it all came flooding back. He was in his room at the Tower, May was dead, he was drowning. He was suffocating; the water filling his lungs until he couldn’t breathe, filling his eyes until he couldn’t see, filling his ears until he couldn’t hear.

“Peter,” he thought he heard FRIDAY say. Her voice was muffled and far away. “You are in distress. I am contacting Boss now…”

He wanted to reply to her. He wanted to scream. But no sound came out. His voice muffled by the water he was sure was filling his lungs.

A lifetime seemed to pass, and then, he felt it.

A hand on his back.

An anchor.

“Hey buddy,” he heard a voice say. That wasn’t FRIDAY…

This new voice was deep and soft and _safe_.

Mr Stark.

Mr Stark pulled Peter into his arms and at the same time, pulled him back from the brink of oblivion just like he had with the Second Snap. The man held him and rocked him as Peter fell apart. Finally, he could breathe again, but the breaths felt quick and shallow and difficult to get all the way to his lungs. He knew he was talking; apologising to Mr Stark, but he could hardly recognise the words or hear the man’s replies. His eyes were still full of water, but now it was spilling over, running down his cheeks as he fought for the surface.

“It hurts,” Peter whispered.

“Oh, Peter. I know kid, I know.”

Peter felt Mr Stark cradle the side of his head, guiding him until his ear was pressed against the man’s chest. Immediately, the steady thrumming of the organ filled his ears, it’s regularity and steadfastness helping Peter re-centre himself. In the safety of Mr Stark’s arms, and with the steady beating of the man’s heart, finally the surface came.

He had thought Mr Stark was an anchor; grounding him, holding him to reality. But now he realised, Mr Stark wasn’t an anchor; he was a buoy. A lifeline. A point of safety Peter could cling to in treacherous waters that threatened to drag him under.

Slowly, his senses returned to him. He could feel the warmth of Mr Stark’s body as Peter clung to him, the firm weight of the man’s arms, holding him and holding him together. He could smell remnants of aftershave and motor oil; a smell that was practically ingrained into the man; a part of his essence. A smell that made Peter feel safe. He could hear the beating of the man’s heart and the quiet words that were whispered to him, assuring him that he was okay, shushing him and lulling him back into reality.

In this way, time passed; Mr Stark held him, and Peter learned how to breathe again.

As he calmed, sleep began to take him, and Peter didn’t have the energy to stop it. He felt Mr Stark lower him back onto the mattress and tuck him into bed. For a while there was silence. And then…

“It’ll get better, kid. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will get better. And I’ll be there for you. I’ll help you through it. You feel alone, but you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone so long as I’m here, kiddo.”

 _This dream is much nicer than the nightmare_ , Peter thought, as sleep finally consumed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everybody! Hope you've all had a great day full of chocolate! 
> 
> This chapter was a toughie for me, not going to lie, but I'm happy with how it ended up eventually. I think. 😅
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and healthy out there in these crazy times, and thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to give this story some of your attention!
> 
> (I've recently started a tumblr again, so feel free to come over and chat! http://irondadbxtch.tumblr.com/)


	4. Day One

Despite not leaving his lab until gone four in the morning, Tony was up at the crack of dawn the next day to make sure he was awake before Peter. He showered quickly, the stream of water waking him up and soothing the tense muscles he’d acquired from being bent over his desk most of the night. He wasn’t sure how today was going to go. He was greeting the day with precisely zero expectations. The articles he’d been reading through the night had all driven home how important it was to allow teenagers going through grief to express that grief in their own way, and Tony really wasn’t sure how Peter was going to handle things. One thing Tony was certain of; he wanted to be there for the kid no matter what.

Pepper, being the amazing, phenomenal, incredible person that she was, had managed to clear his entire work schedule for the next week to give Tony time to focus one hundred percent of his attention on Peter. His phone was on DND for any and all work calls, and FRIDAY had set up an automated response for Tony’s email which meant any enquiries would be redirected to Pepper.

“Not that you ever check your emails anyway, Tony.” Pepper had said that morning, giving him _the_ _look_.

“Why would I check my emails when I have you, honey?” His face had been the picture of innocence, but that hadn’t stopped Pepper from swatting his arm playfully.

After the first week was up, their intention was that he’d be handed no more than a few hours of work a day so that he could be as around as much as possible; anything from Stark Industries that didn’t undoubtedly need to pass through Tony Stark’s hands wouldn’t be, until Peter was back on his feet and stable. No matter how long that took.

Avengers work would have to be a little different; it wasn’t really the type of job you could take a vacation from after all, but unless the team explicitly needed him, he would be staying on the bench for now. Apocalyptic alien activity had seemed to take a bit of a break after Thanos – hundreds of planets around the universe still getting acclimatising to half of their population being returned, just like Earth – and Tony was confident that the vast majority of Earth’s terrorist threats could be handled by the team until Tony had less on his plate.

By 7am, and with a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek on her way out of the door, Pepper was gone, and Tony was alone.

He made his way to the kitchen, preparing his second coffee of the morning and ordering himself and Peter some breakfast from the place around the corner he knew Peter liked. (“Their pancakes are like, the size of dinner plates! It’s awesome, Mr Stark!”).

Tony knew today was likely to be mostly fuelled by coffee considering his late night, but once he had gotten stuck into his research, it was difficult to pull himself away. Rhodey had eventually sent him to bed in the early hours of the morning, insisting that he needed to be at least somewhat well rested if he planned on being of any support to Peter. Tony had wanted to continue his research, still feeling like he was only scratching the surface on what there was to learn. He had once given himself a PhD level understanding on thermonuclear astrophysics in a single evening, but the grieving teenage mind was proving much more difficult for the man to crack.

Tony wanted information that was palpable, something tangible that he could really understand and really use to help Peter. He wanted an article written by some doctor with seven degrees to tell him that all he had to do was A, B and C and Peter would be okay again. But, as Tony was quickly discovering, the teenage mind didn’t work like that. There was no manual, no turning it off and on again, no blueprints. In the end, the majority of the peer-reviewed research papers that FRIDAY had pre-selected were useless: clinical and inapplicable to real life situations, Tony thought. It was the blogs and forums and Facebook support groups for moms that had actually ended up having helpful information on them. Most of the posters were parents whose spouses had passed away and who, like Tony, were way out of their depth and just trying to do the best they could for their grieving kids.

“Boss, Peter is awake,” FRIDAY said, interrupting the man’s thoughts.

Huh. Tony checked the time. 7:19am. He couldn’t deny that he was surprised Peter was up so early; he had thought the trauma of the day before and his nightmare in the early hours would have had him sleeping in until mid-morning at least.

Tony argued with himself for a couple of minutes, trying to decide between going and checking on the kid and leaving him be. He thought back to his childhood and how much he wished someone would have come looking for him more often and his mind was made up. The choice was simple, he had to check on the kid.

Coffee cup still in hand, Tony made his way to Peter’s room. “FRI, is he decent?” he asked, before knocking, not wanting to start his first day as Peter’s official guardian by walking in on the kid naked. He was pretty sure the embarrassment would kill them both.

“Peter is fully dressed and is currently packing his school things into his backpack.”

School? Surely Peter didn’t think…

Tony knocked on Peter’s door. “Hey, Pete,” he called through the wood, “can I come in?”

A pause.

“Um… yeah?” Peter replied, almost hesitantly.

If Tony hadn’t been so concerned, the sight that greeted him when he opened Peter’s door would have been comical. Peter was still dressed in his clothes from the day before, his unruly brown waves sticking up at odd angles and falling into his eyes as the kid balanced on one foot; attempting to pack his AP Chemistry textbook into his backpack on the floor while simultaneously trying to use one foot to edge the notebook spread out on his desk closer to himself. His face was pale, and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from the tears he had shed that morning, but they were laughably wide as they focused on Tony walking through the door.

_What the hell, kid?_

“Er, kid?” Tony started as Peter righted himself, planting two feet firmly back onto the ground and looking at the man sheepishly. “What are you doing?”

“Uh… it’s Monday? I – I have school?” Peter replied tentatively, the statement coming out more like a question. The kid shifted his weight from foot to foot, fiddling with a thread at the hem of his shirt.

“Pete, you can’t go to school today,” Tony replied, too surprised to be delicate.

“Oh.” Peter’s shoulders slumped as he looked down at the floor. “It’s just, I don’t want to fall behind you know? May…” he winced as he said her name, “she – she didn’t like me skipping school... I don’t want to miss anything important…”

“Pete,” Tony sighed as he saw the first tear drip onto the hardwood floor beneath where Peter stood. Peter wouldn’t look up, but Tony popped his coffee cup down on the desk and moved closer to stand in front of him anyway, reaching out a hand to rest on Peter’s shoulder as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Listen, kid. You need to take a couple of days, take some time…”

“I just want everything to be normal again,” Peter interrupted, his voice barely a whisper.

“I know you do.” Tony went pull Peter into a hug, but the kid beat him to it, throwing himself at Tony and wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. Tony tucked Peter’s head under his chin, returning the embrace gladly.

He pulled back after a couple of minutes, still keeping Peter in his arms, but adjusting him slightly so that he could look into the kid’s eyes. A lonely tear fell down Peter’s cheek as he looked up at Tony.

“First of all,” Tony began, his voice soft, “you’re the smartest kid at that school Pete. And I can say that honestly and objectively. How else would you have landed an amazing internship with the leading tech company in the world?” Tony winked, earning himself a small smile from Peter in return that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not going to fall behind. If you’re worried, I can call the school and ask them to send you some work here? But in all honesty kid, I think it would do you good to just have a few days to think and process without having to deal with schoolwork on top of that. What do you think?”

“I – I guess a few days off would be okay.” Peter conceded. A thought seemed to occur to him suddenly. “But, Ned and MJ, they – they’ll wonder where I am. I don’t know if I can… I don’t know if I’m ready to…”

 _You don’t know if you’re ready to have to say what happened out loud,_ Tony filled in.

“I can let them know if you’re not ready to talk about it, Pete. If you want me to.”

Peter considered for a moment. Tony could imagine what was going on inside his head; he wanted to talk to his friends, but he wasn’t ready to have to talk about May yet, which he kind of needed to do if he was going to talk to Ned and MJ personally.

“I think that would be okay. If you don’t mind. Please.” 

“Consider it done, kiddo.” Tony smiled softly, his hand stroking the hair at the nape of Peter’s neck instinctively. “Why don’t you jump in the shower? I’ll make a few phone calls and breakfast should be here by the time you’re done, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter replied hesitantly.

Tony turned to leave, grabbing his discarded coffee mug on the way.

“Thanks, Mr Stark.”

Tony looked back, giving Peter an encouraging smile. “No problem, kiddo.”

With Peter in the shower, Tony busied himself with making as many potentially delicate phone calls as quickly as he could before Peter joined him again. He really didn’t want the kid to have to listen in as he explained the untimely death of his aunt to the various people that needed to be in the know.

First, he called Midtown. It was still early, but thankfully the receptionist answered after only a couple of rings. The woman on the end of the phone said all the right things; how sorry she was for Peter’s loss, how of course he could take some time, there was no rush. They required a copy of May’s death certificate and the adoption paperwork emailing over, which was understandable. Tony ended the phone call having made arrangements to meet with the principle that Thursday to organise Peter’s term of leave and alter any paperwork that would need amending, specifically Peter’s emergency contact and home address details. Tony also intended to discuss the sensitive subject of Peter’s security, which would obviously need to be upped considerably, though he decided that was probably a conversation best had in person.

Next, he called Ned and then MJ. Those calls were…difficult. Tony hadn’t expected them to be so, but there was something extremely sobering and sorrowful about having to explain the death of someone to children, particularly for a man like Tony. It was especially tough with Ned, who out of the two, easily knew May and Peter the best. Tony could hear the teen’s poorly hidden sniffs on the other end of the line. Still, despite how uncomfortable it was for Tony, he explained the situation the best he could; briefly clarifying what had happened, and that Peter was going to be staying with him now, and that of course he was sure Peter would love to hear from them but that it might take him a while to feel up to replying.

He was about to call Happy to have him organise the purchase and organisation of the Parker’s apartment when he heard Peter’s door open down the hall. He wasn’t surprised the kid had been quick; teenage boys weren’t exactly known for their laborious shower regimes, but he had hoped to fit in another couple of calls. Resigning himself to having to complete his admin later, Tony steeled himself for whatever the day would hold.

Peter padded into the kitchen barefoot, hair still wet and dripping on the hardwood floors, wearing grey sweatpants and a classic Peter Parker science pun t-shirt. Today’s edition was a navy-blue number that read ‘Why can you never trust atoms? They make up everything!’ across the chest. His face was pale and the dark circles under his eyes were prominent, but he had a little colour in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before, courtesy of the warm shower.

“Hey kid,” Tony greeted, quickly silencing his phone, and slipping it into his pocket. “Breakfast should be here any minute. How’re you feeling?”

Peter stood awkwardly, like he hadn’t had breakfast at the Tower dozens of times before, literally the day before in fact. But a lot had changed since then. “Um… I’m okay, thanks Mr Stark.”

FRIDAY announced the arrival of breakfast before the conversation could continue. They sat at the island in the kitchen, Peter dutifully picking over his pancakes, although Tony noticed that very few forkfuls were actually making it into his mouth. Tony found the silence awkward and unnerving. Peter was never silent. Even as a stowaway on a spaceship on it’s was to Titan Tony had had to ask him to shut up.

He itched to pull out his phone and scroll or ask FRIDAY to play some music, anything to take his mind from the quiet, but he didn’t. Awkward or not, Peter needed to know that Tony was there for him. So, Tony sat, ate his pancakes, drank his coffee, and tried not to freak the kid out by staring at him too much.

“You finished?” Tony asked, breaking the silence, his voice soft but sounding deafening in the quiet of the room. Peter had been staring blankly at his plate for the past few minutes, lost in thought. His head jerked up as Tony spoke, before he swallowed and nodded stiffly.

Tony gathered up their plates, loaded them into the dishwasher and refilled Peter’s half-drunk glass of apple juice before he could protest. Spidey metabolism meant that every calorie counted, and if the kid didn’t have his usual appetite – as evidenced by Peter’s severe lack of pancake eating – Tony was going to have to try and get those calories into the kid however he could. Today’s technique; liquid diet.

_Okay, what next._

Tony tried to think of what he had wanted when his parents had died. He had wanted to feel supported and safe and comforted. But instead, Tony had just felt alone. Angry. Abandoned. He had felt shame, and emptiness… and then he’d felt like a CEO, although not really like a CEO because that was supposed to be his dad’s job – because his dad was supposed to be alive – and he was _not_ his father. He had felt lost.

Tony shook the memories away. Things would be different for Peter. Tony would make sure they were. He would make sure that Peter knew he was never alone, that he always had someone in his corner, ready to fight for him and ready to guide him.

The kid was clean, watered, fed (kind of). Next on Tony’s mental list of ‘things that will hopefully help Peter feel supported and reassured without making him feel smothered and alone’ was a movie. They watched movies all the time, it would be something that was familiar and routine without being strenuous.

The scraping of a bar stool against the floor had Tony looking up.

“Hey kid, where’re you going?”

Peter froze and turned back to Tony slowly.

“Oh, um, I was just going to head back to my room?” Peter said timidly, using his thumb to gesture over his shoulder. “I… I know you’ll have tones of SI stuff to be getting on with so…”

“Nope.” Tony replied, popping the ‘p’. “I’m a free man,” he continued, attempting to keep his tone light, “I was thinking a movie day if you feel like some company?”

Peter blinked. “Uh, yeah, Mr Stark. That – that actually sounds really great, if you’re sure…”

Tony moved around the island, resting his hand on the back of Peter’s neck, and using his position to guide him towards the living room, coercing him into plopping down onto one of the rooms black leather sofas.

“You pick the movie and I’ll be back in just a sec.”

While Peter flicked through the seemingly endless movie options, Tony busied himself grabbing a multitude of drinks, snacks and some blankets Pepper kept thrown over the back of one of the armchairs. He laid out his supplies on the coffee table in front of the sofa so that the food and drink would be within easy reach, before flinging one of the blankets up dramatically and allowing it to billow down to land over Peter’s body. The kid looked surprised, but his expression turned to pure, unadulterated shock when Tony grabbed one end of the blanket and moved until he was huddled beneath it, right next to Peter on the sofa.

If there was one thing Tony had learnt about Peter Parker in the time since he had known him, it was that the kid was _extremely_ tactile. And the more comfortable with someone the kid became, the more it intensified. It had been gradual at first, Tony had hardly noticed the kid occasionally stepping closer to him or resting his head against Tony’s shoulder every now and again when they rode together in the back of a car. As the pair grew closer, the kid’s need for touch became pretty self-evident; they would bump shoulders as they walked because Peter liked to stay close, Tony would fling an arm over the kid’s shoulder and Peter would lean into the touch easily. Tony had been uncomfortable with the kid’s clingy tendencies at first, but after hardly any time at all, he found he didn’t really mind all that much. The hug they had shared after Peter stepped out of Doctor Strange’s portal on the battlefield at the Compound had been one of the best moments of Tony’s life; so what if he enjoyed the consequent cuddling that had developed between the two of them since then almost as much as the kid.

So, it was unsurprising, once Tony had settled himself under the blanket, that Peter swiftly shuffled towards him until he was pressed against the older man’s side. Peter hit play on some animated movie that Tony didn’t recognise and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder, allowing himself to relax into the man fully. Tony wrapped his arm around Peter, holding him tightly.

They made it through the first title with no issues; Peter watched the movie and Tony subtly watched Peter, occasionally throwing a snack in the kid’s direction, and watching as Peter managed to eat a few mouthfuls at a time. Occasionally Peter would ask if Tony was sure he had time to do this, did he not need to get back to work, were there not projects he needed to be looking at. But each time, Tony would just reassure him that he was fine, there was nowhere he needed to be, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

The tears started around half an hour into the second movie. This time, it was a live action about pirates, and as the on-screen mother and son shared a tender moment before the son set sail again, Tony felt the first couple of teardrops fall onto his shirt. He didn’t say anything to Peter; there was nothing he could say. So, he just held him. He rubbed his back and pulled him close and shushed him. And after a little while, the tears and gentle shakes stopped, as Peter nudged himself impossibly closer to Tony’s side.

The rest of the day went much the same. They snacked. Peter cried. Tony held him. Peter stopped. And repeat.

Eventually, Tony decided that snacks would no longer cut it and ordered in pizza for dinner. They ate in the living room with the boxes on their laps and the fifth Harry Potter movie on in the background. They had barely spoken all day, but that had been okay. Peter was a thinker, and Tony was happy to just be there.

They finished their pizza and Tony went and dropped the mostly empty boxes off in the kitchen. Peter had managed almost a whole pizza, which was about a third less than he usually ate, but Tony saw it as progress, nonetheless. When Tony made his way back into the living room, the movie was paused, and Peter was sat up waiting for him. It was dark outside the floor to ceiling windows now, the only light in the room emitting from the paused TV.

“Mr Stark?” Peter began tentatively as Tony re-joined him under the blanket. “Do I…um…do I need to organise something? Like, a funeral or… something?”

Tony held back a sigh. A part of him wanted to tell Peter not to worry, that he would handle everything and that the kid wouldn’t have to do a thing. But Tony knew Peter. He was loyal and pure. He doubted very much that he would sit back and let Tony organise everything for his aunt’s funeral. All Tony could do was give him the choice.

“Do you want to?”

Peter was silent for a moment, considering. Tony could see the thoughts playing out over the kid’s face, accented by the blue hue from the TV. “I mean, I have to, right? I can’t let her not have a funeral and if I don’t organise it, who will? We didn’t have much in savings, but I think I can probably scrape together enough to… I mean, I don’t even know how much funerals cost, are they a lot? Do you think I could pay in instalments? I don’t…”

“Kid, kid, stop.” Tony finally interrupted, holding up a hand. “You can be as involved with the organisation as you’d like but the cost? You don’t need to worry about that.”

Peter stared at him, dumbfounded, before realisation washed over his face. “No, Mr Stark, no, I can’t let you…”

“Not up for discussion, Pete.” Tony said, kindly but firmly.

Peter stared at his lap for a moment, looking like he wanted to argue but eventually deciding better of it. Instead, he simply cuddled into Tony’s side once more, whispering an almost silent “thanks, Mr Stark” as he returned his head to its previous position on Tony’s shoulder.

A few minutes later, Peter’s quiet tears began again. Tony just held him. They could discuss the funeral details tomorrow if Peter felt up to it. For now, Tony was happy to just sit with Peter, comforting the kid who had lost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Honestly, I can’t believe we got here. This chapter had my absolute LIFE this week and would not behave itself no matter how nicely I asked. This is like, the third or fourth draft of this chapter and I still wasn't super happy with it, so I apologise that it’s not the best! 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read this fic, I truly appreciate it so much! 
> 
> Stay safe and stay healthy! :) 
> 
> (I've recently started a tumblr again, so feel free to come over and chat! [irondadbxtch](https://irondadbxtch.tumblr.com/) )


	5. The Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Just a quick note to say that this chapter does feature a character experiencing a panic attack. If that is something you're uncomfortable with then I would advise skipping this chapter :)

_Peter was at the apartment. It was a Saturday. He could tell because there was no ‘oh shit, I’m gunna be late for school’ feeling in the pit of his stomach that was part of his usual Monday to Friday routine. He didn’t know for sure, but it felt early; golden sunshine was streaming into the room from the gap in his curtains, falling over the Iron Man bedspread he was huddled under._ This is nice _, he thought to himself. He was warm and comfortable and… serene? Was that the right word? He wasn’t sure because he was almost certain he had never felt it before. But it felt right. It felt like floating in the middle of an ocean, the sun shining and the water warm, the close silence that came from having your ears under the surface. Peaceful._

_Peter looked around. Everything was bright, overly saturated, the brilliant sunshine of the day leaking into the room as it infected everything with its vibrance. He could see dust particles dancing in the beam of light. He looked around the familiar room and felt safe. His room was a tiny universe, holding life and memories and moments with Peter at the centre._

_He could smell something sweet and familiar. Aunt May must have been making waffles; that had always been her Saturday morning special whenever she wasn’t on shift at the hospital. It smelt like home._

_He heard the smoke alarm begin to beep annoyingly, but he wasn’t surprised. Another May Saturday morning special was a healthy amount of burnt edges on the waffles. May had always been a little dangerous when it came to hot appliances. It beeped and beeped and beeped like it always did. And Peter ignored it like he always did, safe in the knowledge that it would stop after May wafted the smoke away with a teatowel a couple of times._

_But it didn’t stop. The alarm kept going._ Damn, May must really be doing a number on those waffles _, Peter thought._

_“May?” He called through his bedroom door._

_No reply. The alarm kept ringing._

_“May?” Nothing. “May?!” Peter yelled, finally jumping out of bed and reaching for his door. Something was wrong._

_Before his hand made contact, he was being grabbed from behind, a hand on his t-shirt, overpowering him, pulling him back, and then…_

Peter woke with a gasp, grasping wildly at his bedsheets and flinging his head around to get a look at his attacker. Instead, he came face to face with Mr Stark. The man’s hand was on Peter’s back, rubbing gentle circles like it always did whenever Peter woke from a nightmare.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Mr Stark soothed quietly. “You were dreaming, it was just a bad dream.”

Peter shook his head as he tried to get his breathing under control. “It wasn’t a bad dream,” he managed, heat building behind his eyes. He didn’t want to cry again. He felt like he had done nothing but cry over the past few days, but the tears ignored his will and came anyway. “It was a good dream, Mr Stark. It was a good dream until it ended.”

He wished it had been real. He wished he could close his eyes again and be in his room back at the apartment. He wished it was Saturday and that there would be May’s burnt waffles waiting for him once he finally dragged himself out of bed.

He wished May were here.

Mr Stark didn’t say anything, he just sat with Peter until his breathing returned to normal and the tears stopped flowing. Peter wanted to tell the older man to leave, to not bother wasting any more time on him than he already had, but Peter knew it was futile. He had been saying that every night all week, but Mr Stark had persisted.

It had been a whole week since Aunt May had passed, although Peter only knew that because he knew what today was. The funeral.

In the days that had passed since he’d moved into the Tower with Mr Stark, they had developed somewhat of an unintentional routine. They would eat, or rather, Mr Stark would force some food in Peter’s direction that Peter would pick at. They’d watch movies, sometimes with Pepper or Dr Banner or Rhodey and sometimes even with all three. They’d chat about random topics, usually keeping things as lighthearted as possible, but sometimes failing. They would make plans for May’s funeral.

And Peter would have nightmares.

So far, every night without fail, Peter had woken in the early hours from a nightmare. He wasn’t surprised. He’d had nightmares after the deaths of his parents and then after Uncle Ben, too. But his experience didn’t make them any easier to deal with. Mr Stark was always there when he woke up. The man hadn’t said anything, but Peter had made the not-so-great leap to deduce that Mr Stark had some kind of alert protocol set up with FRIDAY so that the AI always ratted him out, even when he begged her not to in between his sobs.

Peter hated that Mr Stark had to comfort him through every nightmare. It made him feel stupid and young and weak and embarrassed. But at the same time, Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to make it through the days without it. Mr Stark’s warm hand on his back, the gentle voice he used, the whispered words of comfort that he offered, it made Peter feel safe and cared for and a little less alone.

The worst part was that Peter _wanted_ Mr Stark. He wanted him when he was scared; when he woke up in the middle of the night, a scream on his lips from the terrors that his mind had created. Peter wanted him when he cried; when the tears rolled freely down his cheeks whenever anything reminded him of May – and recently, everything reminded him of May. 

It made Peter feel sick with guilt that he had so quickly found someone else to rely on. He knew that if he was completely honest with himself, he’d been relying on Mr Stark in more meaningful ways than just as a mentor for a long time now. But still, it felt like a betrayal to May’s memory.

But he needed Mr Stark. He needed him so badly. So, Peter accepted the comfort Mr Stark gave and tried to find a way to live with the guilt.

They sat for a few more minutes until Peter’s breathing returned to normal before Mr Stark excused himself with a squeeze to Peter’s shoulder, heading to his own room to shower and get ready, leaving Peter alone.

It was still early, but Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore even if he tried. He got himself ready for the day mindlessly; his body on autopilot. He was nervous, although he knew had no reason to be. He had involved himself in the planning the funeral as much as he could bear and as much as Mr Stark would let him, not wanting Aunt May’s funeral to be organised without having a person who loved her involved. He helped choose the flowers and the venue and the songs, but Mr Stark had drawn the line at Peter picking out a coffin. “No one should have to do that, kid,” Mr Stark had said, his eyes dark, and Peter got the impression the man had been talking from personal experience.

But, despite all the planning, even though he’d already had the displeasure of attending funerals for the people he loved most in the past, Peter was still nervous. It was selfish really; today wasn’t about him, it was about May. But… Peter didn’t know if he could do this. He didn’t know if he could sit through another funeral and mourn the loss of another person he loved. He knew all eyes would be on him. The invite list was long; May had been a popular woman and a valued colleague at the hospital. Everyone would want a piece of him, want to comfort him and talk about May, and he would have to sit through it all, trying to hold himself together when he didn’t know how to.

But he had to do it. For May.

Peter dressed in the smart black suit that Mr Stark had laid out for him, shouldering on the jacket but forgoing the tie. The memory of May helping him learn how to do up a tie for Homecoming felt like a lifetime ago now, but Peter could still recall the way the article had felt around his neck; tight and constricting. It was an odd memory; laced with laughter and love from watching the YouTube tutorials with May, but marred by pain and suffering after discovering the identity of the Vulture later that night and the subsequent battle. Peter couldn’t stand the thought of having to wear a tie ever again.

When Peter stepped into the kitchen, Mr Stark surveyed him, eyes lingering on the missing tie for a moment and then falling on Peter’s face. A question burned behind the older man’s eyes but he didn’t say anything, accepting Peter’s unspoken reasoning without question.

“Breakfast?” Tony asked, sliding a box of cereal in Peter’s direction across the kitchen island.

Peter just shook his head. He doubted he’d be able to stomach anything today.

They were joined by Pepper, Rhodey, Bruce and Happy, and the group made their way down in the elevator to the car that was waiting for them. None of the group other than Happy had ever even met May, but it was nice of them to come, Peter thought. He sat next to Mr Stark on the way to Queens, leaning into the man heavily like he had done so many times that week. It was like Peter’s life was a collapsing building and Mr Stark was the only pillar still standing to hold him up. The man didn’t seem to mind, he shouldered the burden gladly, and not for the first time, Peter thought about how thankful he was to have Mr Stark in his life.

The journey to the chapel was short. Before he knew it, Peter was being guided out of the car by Mr Stark’s hand on his back and was led inside to take his seat towards the front of the room. He was aware of people as they attempted to catch his eye as he walked past, no doubt wanting to be the first to offer their sympathies or condolences, but Peter just stared straight ahead.

He spotted Ned and MJ out of the corner of his eye, each dressed in all black in a way that kids should never have to be. Peter didn’t acknowledge them. He felt bad. After letting Mr Stark tell them what had happened, both his best friends had texted him, letting him know how sorry there were and that they were there for him when he was ready. He had replied once to both of them, a couple of days after May had passed, mostly just to let them know that he was alive so they didn’t worry. He hated himself for it, but he just wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet. At the Tower, Peter was in his own little bubble where everybody knew the details of what had happened and nobody pushed him to talk. Ned and MJ? They’d have questions, they’d want him to talk about it, about May, about what happened. They’d push, even though they wouldn’t mean to, and Peter just couldn’t handle that right now. Not yet.

The service began but Peter hardly paid it any attention. He and Mr Stark had chosen the minister, but what could he, some man who had never even met May, tell him during her eulogy that Peter didn’t already know? A few people Peter sort of recognised, probably friends of May’s from work, got up to give speeches. The room sang hymns awkwardly and joined in on prayers, although Peter was sure that at least half of the attendees weren’t religious, himself included.

Peter just sat.

He didn’t look at the people giving the speeches.

He didn’t stand for the hymns.

He didn’t close his eyes for the prayers.

He sat. And he stared ahead. And he waited for the rush of emotion he was sure was coming.

Subconsciously, Peter had expected the funeral to be a turning point. He had expected to do nothing but cry, and sob into Mr Stark's shoulder like he had done so many times that week. He expected to feel sad and distraught all the other words the dictionary had to describe how you felt when someone you loved died. He had expected to make a scene, to have people discussing him on their way home, poor Peter Parker, the kid who’d lost everybody.

Once he’d sobbed and mourned at the funeral, he thought he would feel better. Not completely, obviously, but better. Like the pressure that had been building up all week would finally release and he would be able to stop being so fucking sad all the time.

But it didn’t.

The emotions never came. The funeral happened, and Peter was in the room but he wasn’t _in the room._ His mind was somewhere else, floating above himself, looking upon a life that surely couldn’t be his. And the pressure didn’t release. Maybe he was broken, maybe he had finally cracked. He just felt empty.

As May’s favourite song began to play everyone started to make their way outside into the cool February air. Peter knew he was supposed to stop and chat with people, it was the done thing at funerals, but Mr Stark, seemingly sensing Peter’s reluctance, steered him straight towards the car instead. People would probably think Peter was being rude but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get out of there.

May’s wake was being held on one of the lower levels of the Tower. Mr Stark bundled Peter into the car that would take them there, bypassing all of the well-wishers. The man didn’t even wait for Pepper, Happy, Rhodey or Bruce to join them, assuring Peter quietly that he would send another car for them as he motioned for the driver to get going.

It was on their way back to the Tower that Peter finally broke.

There had been a buzzing around the back of his head since the end of the funeral that refused to go away. At first, Peter mistakenly thought it was his Spidey-Sense acting up, but as he sat in the back of the car next to Mr Stark and they grew closer to the Tower, the feeling intensified, slowly spreading and burning its way down his neck and into his chest and constricting around his heart painfully. His Peter-Tingle had never done _that_ before.

By the time they made it to the Tower, the sensation had fingers, which leeched out into Peter’s body and squeezed around his lungs and his brain and his throat until it was hard to breathe. He knew his breathing was becoming quicker and quicker, but he didn’t know how to control it, and the panic of his body no longer being under his control only made the breaths come quicker.

His thoughts became fragmented through the panic. He didn’t know what was happening and he was scared and he wanted it to stop but he didn’t know what _it_ was and if he didn’t even know what this was then how could he ever hope to stop it?

He thought of the wake. He couldn’t face it. He couldn’t face that room, those people, not like this. As soon as the car came to a halt in the underground garage, he stumbled blindly towards the elevator, Mr Stark following closely behind.

It took them seconds to make it up to the penthouse, but each one seemed to pass agonisingly slowly for Peter as he struggled to catch his breath. He had hoped that being surrounded by the familiar walls of the penthouse would calm him, but the clawing feeling inside him only strengthened. He sank to his knees as soon as he was out of the elevator, his legs shaky and unable to support himself. His lungs were on fire; every breath was a struggle as he forced the air inside his body, the beast within him maintaining its vice-like grip around his chest.

He was dying. He had to be dying because this wasn’t normal. He clawed at his chest, at his throat, trying to pry away whatever was choking him but finding nothing but skin.

Before Peter knew what was happening, he was being pulled back against something firm, a calloused hand finding its way onto his chest, pressing into him and pinning him against a warm body. Mr Stark.

“It’s okay, Peter, it’s okay. You’re having a panic attack, okay?” Mr Stark said, his breath brushing up against Peter’s ear. “Have you ever had one before?”

Peter shook his head. His breathing was totally out of control now. His body was rigid and his vision was blurring and he was scared. Fuck, he was scared.

“Okay, that’s okay, buddy. I remember my first one totally sucked as well. Is this okay?” Mr Stark asked, gesturing to their position on the floor.

They were sat, Mr Stark with his back against the wall and Peter between his outstretched legs, his back against Mr Stark’s chest. It ought to have been a mortifying position to be in, but through the panic and the pain, the feeling of Mr Stark; firm and familiar and _safe_ , was the only thing keeping Peter from completely losing control.

So, Peter nodded.

“Okay, good. You’re doing great buddy; it’s all going to be okay.” Mr Stark used the hand on Peter’s chest to rub gentle circles. “Try and match your breathing with mine, okay Pete? I know it isn’t easy but just try for me.”

Mr Stark began taking exaggerated breaths, his whole body moving with the effort and lifting Peter up and down in time with him. Peter tried to follow the instruction but it was like his brain and lungs weren’t connected. Every time he thought he was starting to get it under control, his breath would hitch, and he’d be back to square one.

“Shh, Peter, shh, it’s okay, you’re doing good. I’m here, I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you, you’re safe.”

 _I’m safe_ , Peter repeated in his mind.

_Mr Stark’s here, I’m safe. Mr Stark’s here, I’m safe. Mr Stark’s here, I’m safe._

Peter repeated the mantra until slowly, oh so slowly, he began managing to match his breathing with Mr Stark. The older man’s words bled into him, prying the burning fingers away from his lungs and his heart and his throat. The panic was a raging fire but Mr Stark's presence was cool water, filling Peter up and extinguishing the flames that threatened to end him.

“That’s it kid, well done. You’re doing great, just like that.”

They sat for a while longer, Peter’s frantic panic slowly being replaced by relief as air found its way into his lungs, each breath becoming easier than the last. He allowed his tense body to relax, leaning his head back against Mr Stark’s shoulder and closing his eyes as the man continued to rub soothing circles on his chest. A wave of exhaustion washed over him.

“May’s wake,” Peter mumbled shamefully as tears began to pool in his eyes. “I missed her wake.” What kind of nephew was he? His aunt was dead and he didn’t even have the decency to cry at her funeral, wasn’t even strong enough to make it to her wake. He was pathetic.

“Shh, it’s okay. May would have understood, kid.”

The worst part was that Peter knew he was right. May had always understood him better than anyone else. They’d always had a way of communicating with each other that was almost subliminal; each understanding the other without the need for words. But it didn’t help ease Peter’s guilt.

He leant forward, resting his head in his hands and rubbing at his aching eyes. His back felt cold from no longer being pressed against Mr Stark. “I’m tired,” Peter said finally, after a few moments.

“Sofa or bed?” Mr Stark replied simply, easing himself up from the floor.

“Bed.”

Mr Stark held out a hand, pulling Peter up from the floor and guiding him to his bedroom without question. As soon as they were in the room, Peter made his way into his en suite, plucking the sweatpants and t-shirt that he had deposited there that morning from the floor and quickly changing into them from his funeral suit.

Mr Stark was still there when Peter left the en suite. The man was holding up a corner of Peter’s bedspread, ready for him to climb straight in. A quick glance at the clock on his bedside table told him that it was only mid-afternoon, but he was exhausted. He climbed into the offered space readily, happy to just close his eyes and forget what an ordeal the day had been.

He felt Mr Stark pull the covers up and over his shoulder, effectively tucking him into bed. “I’ll come and wake you up for dinner, okay kid?” Peter nodded into his pillow, unable to meet the man’s eyes. “You did good today, Pete.” He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. “I know you probably don’t feel like it, but you did.”

Peter pulled one of his hands out from underneath the comforter, grabbing onto the hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze in return. “Thanks, Mr Stark,” he whispered, finally turning his head to tentatively meet the man’s gaze. Mr Stark gave a small smile before he made his way out of Peter’s room, closing the door behind himself with a soft click.

Peter pulled the comforter up and over his head, hiding himself away from the real world the best he could. He closed his tired eyes and thought of May. He thought of the way she would stroke his hair on the sofa after a long day at school. He thought of how, when he was younger, she would buy superhero-themed band-aids whenever he grazed his knee in the playground, and how she always kissed the band-aid before she applied it, claiming that it would speed up the healing. He thought of how she would dance around the apartment, forcing Peter to join in and laughing at his two left feet. He thought of how she had always been there for him, through good times and bad times and scary times, and how he would never get to have that again.

But then he thought of Mr Stark. How the man would comfort him after every nightmare. How he always seemed to know exactly what Peter needed, even before Peter knew himself. How he was patient and gentle and understanding with Peter in a way he had never seen the man be with anyone else before. And Peter found himself thinking how much he loved May and how much he missed her, but also amazing Mr Stark had been. He wasn’t May, but he was there. He mattered. And he was all Peter had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! As always, thank you for giving this fic a few moments of your precious attention, I truly appreciate it! 
> 
> Hope you're all keeping safe and well out there! 
> 
> (I've recently started a [Tumblr](https://irondadbxtch.tumblr.com/)again, so feel free to come over and chat!)


End file.
